Volume 5 Redemption
by doctorwhobeyond
Summary: How I would love Volume 5 to start. Please note that here Claire can feel pain again - thanks to devilishlysas who pointed it out Not really any spoilers because this doesn't actually happen - all characters belong to that genius Tim Kring who is God
1. Chapter 1

*note – here Claire can feel pain – it seemed better to fit it in this way*

He had been Nathan for three months. He remembered how it felt to sit in his body; to wash his face, to look into a mirror and be presented with a face that was his own and yet, was not his own. His mom – no, Angela - had removed all the clocks from the office, the apartment, her house. He never seemed to have a watch anywhere which was annoying. He'd ask her, "How am I supposed to know what time it is?" and she'd smile weakly and turn away. But she'd been right to take them from him.

Denko had told him to anchor himself. All he had ever really known was clocks, watches. It was the power he'd had bestowed upon him since birth. Angela might have known, but she didn't need to. After his words "It's just this clock. It's running a minute and a half fast." she had known. She had removed them all and thought she'd protected him. But he'd found the one left in his bottom drawer. It was an accident. He would never have found it if he wasn't searching for a pen. But there it was. Perfectly concealed in the back of the left drawer. It was dusty with age and along its surface ran a single crack. It was a wind up watch, its strap peeling brown leather, gold dials on its edge. He ran a finger over the glass, feeling some distant sorrow for a watch that had been forgotten, unloved, lost. Some sense of pity that a watch should never stop working; after all, what else were they designed for?

He had spent the hour after his secretary had gone home taking apart the watch, laying its intricate pieces across his desk, glowing bronze in the dim light of his desk lamp. Each cog, each bolt seemed to murmur softly, whispering their purpose, where their brothers and sisters where, where they sat among them. And then, almost as if he had learnt it, he took the empty husk of the watch and laid piece after piece back into it until the back snapped into place and wound it. The second hand quivered and started its journey, pulling the other hands with it in harmony. He'd watched it for another hour, feeling his heart rate quicken until he'd looked into the mirror hanging above his mantle piece and frowned. Then Nathan had bled away like smoke in a breeze and his face was suddenly his own; his memories exploding into reality with a force that caused him to gasp. His hair; dark, thick; his nose rounded; lips bowed and parted as he struggled for air. His fingers had traced his face, slicing wounds that trickled blood and that healed again silently. He half laughed in disbelief and then smiled darkly at his reflection.

"Boo."

Angela opened the door slowly. Nathan hadn't met her for lunch. It made her remember the same moment three moths ago when she'd been shocked by the Sylar still in her son. "It's just this clock. It's running a minute and a half fast." But then her son wasn't really her son. It was like they'd plastered over a drywall and left it, but the rot was still growing underneath; they'd never removed it completely.

"Nathan?" she called cautiously. She walked in anyway, easing the door shut behind her. She glanced around but there was no one. It was still dark in the room.

"I'm here, Ma." Nathan muttered. Now she saw him. He was by the closed curtains, his face spilt through the middle with a shaft of light streaming through a gap. She smiled slowly but warmly.

"You were supposed to meet me almost an hour ago, Nathan. I know you're busy with work, but you could've called your poor mother first."

He seemed to frown at this, his brow creasing. She watched his mouth, twisting strangely, as if it were unused to this position.

"My mothers are dead."

She stared as he turned around, and she couldn't tell if it was the shadows moving, but his hair seemed darker. Even in the light, as he straightened to face her she saw that he was not Nathan. Her gasp of shock was cut short by another as her throat was closed around by unseen hands. He stepped forward and the desk lamp flickered on. Now the light and shadows curved around him she saw the face that had haunted the dreams she had ignored. Sylar couldn't come back. She'd never seen the watch. It was impossible; her dreams must have been wrong.

"Nathan," she choked, struggling for air and begging that this was just another dream. Sylar raised a corner of his mouth in a tight smile.

"Now he's really dead. I'd ask you if you thought it was sick, what Parkman did to me. You'd probably say yes, but then you'd be lying. And I'd know. I can tell."

He raised a finger and as he did so the intercom buzzed.

"Mister Petrelli? Your daughter's here to see you. Can I send her in?"

He paused, thinking. Then he gave Angela a secret smile and spoke aloud in her son's voice.

"Sure. I'm not busy."

A door flew open to the closet and he smiled again.

"You don't mind if you wait for a moment do you? I don't want to keep your grand daughter waiting." With a flick of his wrist Angela flew into the closet, her head colliding with the wall. Her eyes flickered shut and she slid down to rest in a crumpled heap. The door closed again and Sylar morphed silently back into Nathan Petrelli.


	2. Chapter 2

She knocked before she entered. It seemed polite, though she knew Nathan was expecting her. The door opened almost immediately. When he saw her a smile broke over his face.

"Claire. How are you?"

She shrugged, grinning.

"All good."

"Alright, why the visit?" He stood aside to let her enter.

"Can't I say hi to you now and again?"

"I was actually about to go down to lunch with Angela."

"Oh."

"You could come too if you want."

"Mm." She made a noise of non-committal. "Angela seems weird lately. Peter's off on some A&E course and since I was staying in New York for a while I thought 'hey, why not go and see a Senator?' so I did. Come on, I was feeling lonely, can you blame me?"

She blinked up at him with puppy dog eyes. He sighed, won over.

"Of course not."

She beamed and wrapped her arms as far as she could reach around his midriff.

"It's nice to see you." She murmured, muffled from her face in his chest.

He was taken aback when she had hugged him. He glanced down at her hair shining golden in the bright light now that he'd opened the curtains. But he placed his own arms around her back and held her tightly, smirking over the top of her head. She was so small that she only reached up to his chest; so fragile and delicate that it was impossible to think that she couldn't die. She was invincible. He enjoyed the feeling of her embracing him for a while longer, knowing how disgusted she would be if she knew that he was not Nathan, but the person who she hated above everyone, everything and who she thought she'd seen burn.

"It's nice to see you." She told him.


	3. Chapter 3

Claire was suddenly frozen. His arms around her weren't holding her in place; some unseen force was trapping her. She couldn't move; locked into position around him. She felt his clothes change under her arms, his body straighten out, grow, slim down. She couldn't see him, but when she heard his voice she knew. Her eyes were wide and horrified. _No_. _Please, not again_.

"It's nice to see you too."

She was in Sylar's arms, crushed against his chest in a revolting embrace. She couldn't speak. She swallowed nothing, bile rising in her throat. Adrenaline shot into her system, but nothing her body could do would help. The man who she knew was dead was here and she'd walked right into the trap.

"It's been a while," he continued, reaching up to move her hair from where it hung down her back to over one shoulder. Her neck was bare. "I know you thought I was dead, but did you consider the proposal?" He asked, voice dark, toying with her. She remembered the words he'd whispered in her ear three months ago. _You could be my _first _first lady_. How sickened she'd been – his touch that made her skin race with goose bumps; who'd killed so many people and harmed so many she loved. He expected her to feel something – anything – for him other than hatred? Desire? Lust? _Love? _She wanted to scream but her mouth was unable to open. She felt his hand touch her neck and her mouth released from its invisible hold. She gasped; felt the stab of pain and blood where he'd cut a nick in her neck. She felt her head being pulled head to face him against her will. She saw his wipe away the blood on her neck and watch as the wound healed.

"You don't want to be alone forever do you?"

He reached up and drew another cut across the apple of her cheek by her left eye. Blood trickled down and again he wiped it away. It was so wrong, his hand on her face and one on her back and she kept hugging him like she welcomed it. She bet he liked this – feeling powerful, forcing her to keep so close to him. He lifted his hand to his face inspecting her blood. She felt the wound on her cheek heal again. Why was he doing this? What did he want? She watched, nauseated, as he touched his finger to his lips and tasted her blood. She spoke, forcing her lips to move again his hold.

"You are a monster."

He returned his intense gaze to her and narrowed his eyes briefly. Then he trailed a finger down her cheek, leaving a long, deep wound, bleeding viciously. She inhaled violently; the pain was not so bad but it took her by surprise.

"Human beings _are_ monsters. I just choose to accept what I am." Then he watched the wound heal up again, tracing her chin with his hand but leaving no cuts. He reached her lips and extended a finger, pausing. "Maybe you should too."

His finger contracted, slicing the middle of her bottom lip as it did so. She held back a cry of pain, refusing to give him what he wanted. He liked seeing her hurt and heal over and over. He like causing her pain. It somehow mesmerised him to see her power work. Her lip was still bleeding but his hand had dropped away from her face and gripped the base of her skull; the only place that could kill her.

"Do it." She forced out the words, spitting blood. "Do it already."

He smiled dangerously, but instead of the burning pain she expected from the back of her head he leant down to her. What was going on? Didn't he want to kill her? His face was closer now, his breath hot, a trace of her blood still on his lips. _Lips_. She blinked in shock. He wasn't going to... was he...? The screams she was unable to force out exploded inside her head. He was inches away; eyes still open, watching indulgently for her reaction. And suddenly there was no distance between them. His top lip brushed hers –

The door exploded and someone collided with Sylar, throwing him across the room. Claire was released, staggering with relief and shock at how close he'd come to kissing her. He realised who her saviour was; who was now currently pounding Sylar with a chair.

"Peter!" She screamed. A hand came up from the mass of two men and debris of the furniture and Claire felt something invisible grab at a spot behind her naval and jerk. She went flying across the room and she felt the left side of her body crushed. She cried out, landing and waiting to heal, ribs snapping back into place and the side of her skull reforming.

Peter Petrelli smashed the chair over Sylar's head, thrown off him as Sylar regained some focus. He leapt to his feet, pulling out the splinter that had driven into his shoulder. It healed; a souvenir from touching Claire two days ago. His face contorted in anger as Sylar pulled himself to his feet.

"WHERE'S MY BROTHER?" He bellowed, lower lip askew as it always had been. Sylar cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.

"Ask your mommy."

And the window exploded, sending out shards of glass that peppered Claire and Peter. He took two long strides and hurled himself out of the window. He never hit the street. Peter watched him soar away, spitting out chunks of glass. Then he scrambled over to Claire and helped her to her feet, brushing her down.

"You okay? What did he do?"

She shook her head, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so glad you're here." She told him in answer. "What did he mean by that?"

Peter knew she meant Sylar's parting words. He sighed.

"I don't know."

"But I do." A voice spoke. They turned to see Angela straighten out her jacket, a large bruise on her forehead. She looked pained, her expression reluctant. "I have to tell you about Nathan. I have to tell you about your brother."


End file.
